Joker: Origin
by J.R. Jones
Summary: ONE SHOT. My attempt at the true origin behind The Dark Knight's Joker. It gives you a very small glimpse at how Joker's mind begins to transform from a normal sane man into the infamous Joker. And of course a new scar story.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Joker. All rights go to DC Comics.

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**Joker: Origin**

_"Do you wanna know how I got these scars?"_

Darkness consumed the room of Apartment 4A. Moonlight filtered through the three windows in the apartment, yet failed to illuminate even the slightest bit of the dilapidated apartment. It was as if the room had become a dark abyss of anger, failure, and regret. And it was the turn of a rusted doorknob that broke the pure tranquility that lingered inside within the darkness. The door was thrown open, and light slowly fought their the dark shadows, lighting up the bloodstained carpet and rotted wooden tables.

Long rough fingers gripped around the corner of the door. With a quick flick of the wrist the door was slammed shut. The man's left hand clicked on two switches that lit the rest of the room. Yet, the same gloomy feeling stayed with the room even with the new light that defeated the caliginosity of the room. The man paced quickly in the room, his hands grabbing his hair and grunts of an internal agony were let out. With a final tug, he released his hair and pushed the pathetic television to the ground and shattered the screen. A short laugh could be heard as the television met its end.

It was something about its dramatic end that brought memories of the heavenly night that occurred just two days ago. The feeling of destroying something, something that once had life, goals, happiness, and a normal life. The feeling to let go of the restraints of sanity that bind many of the humans that inhabited the earth. He could still remember and feel the warmth of the man's blood that had fallen upon his hands and sprayed upon his face. It was the first time in his life that he knew what it felt to be truly free. It was at that moment that he had the realization that sanity and the expectations of others in life is what truly holds back humans from their true potential. The potential to tap into their 'super-sanity.'

The man stopped, his head twisting slightly to the side and his teeth biting the top of his lip in anger. A faint chiming sound could be heard as the man opened up the switchblade from his pocket. A glimmer of light was reflected off of the grungy surface of the blade. The man gripped the blade tightly, his knuckles turned to a pure white as he wrapped his slender fingers around the blade's handle. He walked down the hallway, as the blade was jammed into the wall and began sliding down the wall. Easily ripping the wallpaper with every inch of movement.

Chuckles came slowly with every step. He ripped the blade from the wall and walked into a small bathroom, blood covering the floors and sink. The man simply walked passed a victim from the night before as if he was passing a man on the street. The victim lay in the bath tub, blood barley filling the tub. His neck had been slit and his eyes seemed oddly peaceful, but lifeless. The most notable injury to the man was a craved smile that made the man barely recognizable from his old self. But this man was simply a test subject in his captor's maniacal plans.

The man's eyes were filled with psychopathic need for change. He looked into the mirror and smirked as he pulled the blade to his mouth. His wrist flicked and turned the blade to the corner of his mouth. With no time of thought he pulled up his check, cutting it in two. Blood squirted onto the grimy mirror; grunts of pain were heard as the blade tore through the soft delicate layers of his flesh. He twisted the blade in a circular motion and his mouth barley seemed connected on the right side, a chuckle could be heard under all the grunts of pain.

After the first few cuts, pain wasn't felt anymore, only the purest form of ecstasy. The man had truly lost all grips with the world. His demented chuckle turned into a blissful laugh as he pulled the blade over to the left side of his mouth. He ripped upward in a half circle, giving himself the smile he always needed in his life. The laughs became louder and with that more blood was splattered at every exhale of laughter. His face became a bloody grimace. Blood filled the sink and layers of skin fell to the ground with large quantities of blood following right behind them. His mouth and cheeks only stayed together with the help of the remaining, yet weakened strands of blood red tissue and jagged skin.

The man spit up blood into the sink and turned his head up to the ceiling and let out a loud insanity driven laugh, the loudest he had ever let out in his life. blood running down his throat as he did. It was a moment of pure perfection, bliss, and happiness for the man. At this moment, he truly felt happy and relieved of all the burdens and misfortunes in his life. He was a new man; a man of laughter, torture, maniacal enjoyment, and pure insanity. He turned back as he took a rag and placed it around his mouth. The blood never stopped running but for a split second he could see his now bloodstained teeth.

Lightning flashed as he looked at himself in the mirror, and that's when he saw it. He saw what he was to become; a man with no boundaries both in mind and body; a man with no rules. A sane man in an insane word, he was to become the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime. His mind only had one thought in it. And that was that this was, without a doubt, the best way to turn a frown upside down.


End file.
